Eternal Lullaby At The End of The Sabre
by Ngoc Chau
Summary: Set before Hellboy. The year is 1908. Karl Ruprecht Kroenen is the toast of Europe for opera. He was a normal boy... and it'll all change when he meets a mysterious woman named Evangeline. Kroenen/OC PLease read and review. There's a kissing scene. 1 of 4
1. Caught in Crimson and Night

**Ngoc Chau does not own Hellboy**

**If you are reading this, then thank you.... You have at least the heart to do what I asked you to. I hope that this chapter will be at your liking and convince you to read more of my work and more of this fanfic. **

**Thank you for reaching this far and I hope you'll also review.**

**To clear one thing, Munich is the capital city of Bavaria. So yeah... just don't get confused or anything.**

* * *

**This chapter's song is;**

**_"Amour"_  
by  
Rammstein.  
www. youtube .com/watch?v=tAxstKM5ZVk**

* * *

**Chapter Piece;  
**(Since I couldn't think of how to summarize this chapter, it really is a short chapter that takes place in one evening, I just pulled out a paragraph or 2 from the story-line. Even if it doesn't sound interesting, please.... just give it a read)

_He didn't sing with all the actions or movements as he usually did for shows. This time, it felt more like a force was going through him, using him almost. Like he was a puppet to this unknown woman's song.  
As he sang, he felt like his voice was being enhanced, being perfected like nothing ever before. It was in this moment, he was achieving perfection.  
He was loving it._

_He met up with the woman's gaze as she still played on the piano. He was slightly taken aback. Even if this song was her own composition of something, he had never really met someone who could look up so easily while still playing the piano so professionally.  
He smiled a bit, the woman smiled back at him with pearly teeth. Though he wouldn't ever ever admit it, his heart leaped up at seeing this sophisticated lady._

_At that moment, it was no longer him performing in front of an excited stage with everyone watching and a spiteful Ella Bunstein eyeing them both so gingerly.  
No, it was just him and this mysterious woman._

_Flowing in music, creativity and voice melding together. He never felt so whole, so complete in his life than now. Now, under the spotlight with her. He wished that the feeling could be as strong to her as it was with him. If the moment could last forever, frozen in time, he would be at bliss. The swirls and aches in his stomach tumbled and rolled into each other, building up tension and nervousness. As he kept his sky blue eyes on her, he noticed that her eyes were an odd shade of golden amber or perhaps a very yellow hazel._

_He always found that people with light brown eyes - or any other odd colours - didn't look so.... so.... well, y'know._

* * *

_**Bavaria, Germany  
1908**_

* * *

The young Aryan songbird's voice rang out in the halls of the opera house.

As his hands rose up to accent the great climax of the piece, his voice abruptly stopped with a dramatic cease and his head dropped. The crowds stood up in an uproar to the youth's performance.  
He smiled his heart-melting to the audience, then he took a low bow and walked off the stage.

That was one of most famed performances of the Songbird of Munich; right in his own hometown.

Back stage, he looked around for his parents. Through the rows of news reporters who wanted more photos of the prodigal child, he found them waving to him with a happy and excited look on their faces.

He wore an old fashioned jacket of blue and gold lining. His short ruffled blonde hair had been slicked back, but now was spazzing forward, small strands of sunshine over his shaped brow. His slacks were dark as night and just melted with his long collar jacket. His jacket was messed up and wrinkled, from his ardent actions during singing. His cuffs were rolled back more than average because of the size of the jacket.  
The outfit was different but usually matched his shows.

Avoiding the reporters, he walked faster to meet his parents. "How was I tonight? Was I good enough?" Karl asked them as his father ruffled his golden hair and his mother adjusted his tie.

His father answered proudly, "You were great, better than great."

Young Karl Ruprecht Kroenen -age 11- smiled another toothy grin. His father lifted up a hand and pointed to a direction, "I'll go get your coat and we'll leave right away after you're done. I know you must be tired."  
Karl nodded. Tonight was finally his last show before he could take a break; so naturally it would be a big one. He had already sang 15 sonatas and 5 compositions -about. He had lost count somewhere along the line. But he did know it was a lot for such a young boy; one who also had to manage his advanced studies.

Just as his mother was fussing about how he could keep his hair so disheveled when she always combed it and styled it with the thickest gels, the stage directer came by. He looked tired, his goatee dripping with beads of sweat and spit as he spoke, "Kroenen, the pianist is out with a broken hand!"

Karl's flawless pale hand flew to his mouth as he exclaimed, worried, "He _broke_ his hand? How awful! What shall we do? My last act _needs_ the pianist and he's one of the best we have!"

The stage directer slapped his own forehead with a free hand and said in exasperation, "I know! But the show has to go on!" There was a slight pause as he looked at the clipboard in his hand, "Which is why, if we can't find a replacement, you'll have to sing a duet with one of the others."

Karl nodded his head, carefully hiding his disappointment in the idea of the possibility of having to sing a duet with one of the other _wunderkinds_. They were always snobby, their parents having been in famous performances before. And with Karl's modesty and low-self esteem -he was always so ashamed of his awkwardness and his face; how he could never be brutally strong like some of the other boys and he could never back himself up when he really had to.  
He often wished he could be perfect, nothing flawed. But that was just an absent thought -a dream.

He walked out to the edge of the crimson felt curtain, looking out at the audience. Somehow, always looking to see what you should expect always calmed him down in the heat of pressure. He looked smiling, that everything was going to be alright -_all_ those people came to hear _him_ sing!  
It was _him_ who was on the poster introducing the show and _him _who was the headliner. Seeing all those people, knowing what he was up again, really did calm him down.

Kroenen felt a sudden tap on his shoulder and turned around.  
"God!" he exclaimed as he turned to see a pale, thin girl with brown curls wound up elegantly on the top of her head.

It was Ella Bunstein.

She had those big brown eyes that resembled a cat staring at something exquisite. Her baroque-styled, pink ruffled dress shimmered in the bright spotlights. "Karl, the directer said that I'm going to sing with you! _Got that_?"

Karl nodded his head as he stood up more straightly, already towering a head over this shrill girl. He sighed as she smirked at him with a look that screamed superiority. She maight have well as shouted 'Hah!'  
She was a good singer, but ever since he had come into the music world, she was jealous of him, competing with him and always boasting about her past accomplishments to him. Karl Kroenen smiled smugly to himself; performances that he could easily top with just half of what he did by his last show.

He ignored her, holding up his own and walked to the center of the stage, already seeing on the wheeled out grand piano, the papers for him and his female partner. As he picked up the papers of his primo part. he thought to himself bitterly, _"Damn, why did the stupid pianist have to go and break his hand?"_

Sighing, he looked at the keys and title, '_Serenade No. 13, "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik'_ .

His shoulders drooped a bit. He wondered how could someone even _think_ of making 'The Songbird of Munich' sing something like _this_ as his last show for the season with such a witchy girl like Ella. It was such a baby piece; in fact, it was the first piece he learned and he could even possibly sing it in his sleep.

Still, he sang each key quietly to himself and toned his own voice.

* * *

Not to his knowledge, from the audience, a young woman was watching him with golden amber eyes. She was young, seeming in her 20s, but no older than 25.  
She got out of her seat in the front row and walked past the seats behind her. She drew a few looks, but their owners would only to look away as though they had just seen a ghost and now refused to believe it.

Her red and white dress ruffled as she walked up the stage in front of everybody and ducked away through the crimson curtain.  
And yet, no one _'saw' _anything.

She walked steadily, her high heels at a clatter as she dodged with unnatural ease through the running performers and musicians and stage workers. A sudden pain came to her forehead, right above her eyes and she clenched her hand against her head. She blinked away the irritation and the pain disappeared.  
From under the wide white-ruffled sleeve of her ornamented dress, she pulled out a simple blank half mask and tied it swiftly behind her high extravagant hairdo of raven curls.

As she walked to the piano where an angel was singing to the notes of an aria, she stopped and stared so diligently at him.

* * *

It wasn't for but a few seconds until he got the feeling that he was being watched and looked up at the woman in front of him.

Her thin ruby lips curled up into a sort of devious smirk. Just then, as a stage worker ran between him and this mysterious woman, she just disappeared. There was no sign that she was just there in front of him, not even the echoing tapping of shoes running away. He scratched the back of his head, a strong habit that his mother always scolded him because it always messed up his already messy hair.  
He turned back to continue practicing, quietly singing the keys to himself.

After a half hour or so when the applause echoed out of the hall, the stage directer ran to Kroenen, with Ella at his side and panted out, "Kroenen, get ready and put away the papers, you're going to sing now!"

Slightly surprised, Kroenen nodded and walked briskly to the piano and set the papers on the seat of it.  
The stage directer finally noticed that the piano was still out and he looked up for a free hand, "Hey, I need someone to get rid of the piano, we're not using it!"

There was no reply.

Dejectedly the directer -who certainly didn't want to move the piano himself- said, "Fine, we'll just leave it there, it'll add some _class_ to the stage."  
Finally, he ran off, here was some sort of announcements on the other side of the curtain.

Ella stood tall as she could, glaring at Kroenen who was smoothing out his suit. Just then the curtains parted and the orchestra bolted out and the 2 young singers started to sing. More like a competition on stage than a duet.

In the midst of a high note, the same woman that Kroenen had saw just about an hour ago walked on stage.  
No one seemed to notice her. Surprised, he wondered why nobody was telling her to get off; or at least doing something. But still, he kept his focus and continued singing.

The woman quietly sat at the bench of the piano, paying no attention and having no attention being paid to her. Kroenen was still singing the last half of the Serenade, while she started to play the same part as he was singing.  
He kept in time and tune to what she was playing, while it seemed like Ella was falling apart at the seams; just barely being able to keep up.

Subtly, but still noticeably, the tune changed from the serenade to a different piece, 'Opus 46 - Adelaide'

Kroenen quickly recognized the song and adjusted to it so naturally, whereas Ella had no recollection to the song and just ceased singing right on stage. A few snickers at her expense could be heard as he sang out a lingering key. Kroenen himself wanted to laugh but had to keep a straight face to match the lonliness of the song.  
Very slowly, he turned on his heels to see who exactly was playing the piano.

She looked so dignified, but so... so.... he just couldn't find another word to describe her. He tried to jog through his memories to see who could she be. She wasn't any pianist that he knew about.  
The most he could say about her was that she just appeared and disappeared from and into thin air. But the odd thing was her mask, why was she wearing it?  
It was so strange, no one really wore masks anymore. Mentally shrugging, he watched her hands and fingers more than her covered face. The fingers moved so lightly and so quick that he could barely keep up with it, even with his eagle eyes. While her hands just danced like a slow waltz over the ivory board.

Her head bobbed and swayed to the music, she was smiling as she was playing, clearly enjoying what she was doing. All the other pianists would have the most serious looks on their faces, staying still as statues to increase and keep tempo, to focus on only the right keys and accent and slur at only when the moment called for it. Now, it seemed so natural, like it was second nature to breathing.

She really was beautiful to him. Her long dress that covered nearly every inch of her except for her face. The complicated patterns of buttons and lace criss-crossing in front of her dress with a high collar and wide ruffled sleeves that went tight at her arms and spread at her elbows. Her dress was layered which made her look taller and how it draped the seat of the piano bench looked so hypnotizing.  
How her white mask and white gloves moved on the ivory keyboard against the sleeves of crimson was entrancing.

Then, again, just like before, when the song was coming to an end but not an exact end, she changed another tune. This tune wasn't anything he knew, but instinctively he sang his own verse to it. The notes of it was soft, but loud at the same time, the tinkling of keys and the fullness of chords. How it sounded off just rays of hope only to be wrapped and enveloped by despair.

His heart beat against his chest, listening to it, imagining it. The sides of his face pinched, like he wanted to weep his eyes out.  
The song was something sad but a sort of melancholy.  
It intrigued him. The audience appeared to have no idea that this wasn't at all part of the show. His parents watched in awe, but also in confusion.  
He saw the stage directer from the corner of his eye. He was seething at the teeth, looking through the clip board in his hand for who could possibly be the mystery pianist and when or where this part was in the program.

Kroenen smiled a bit out of the amusement and continued to sing;

**Ich sah Sie zum ersten Mal  
Auf den ruhigen Gebieten.  
Ich erreichte heraus zu Ihnen,  
Aber konnte eine Reichweite von nicht erhalten.  
Ich könnte Ihnen nicht sogar erklären  
Von meiner liebevollen Hingabe zu Ihnen.**

**Mein Rissfall und von ihr,  
Es wächst weiße lillies der reinsten  
Substanz.  
Wir werden nicht bedeutet, um zu sein, aber noch sehne mich ich nach Ihnen.  
Mein Herz,  
Welches ich nur zu Ihnen schwöre.**

**Mein Leben, darstelle ich als alleiniges  
Geschenk Ihnen en  
Meine Seele als das Abkommen.  
Ich verspreche alles zu Ihnen.  
Mein liebstes...**

**Außer den Gedächtnissen von Ihnen und nur von Ihnen  
Dass das Leben und das Todeslöschen verursacht.  
Zu für immer, in unseren Händen, die wir bleiben.  
Mein liebes, für dieses, bete ich**

**Wenn ich überhaupt Sie vergesse,  
Ich finde Sie bis die Enden der Zeit.  
Die ist meine Versprechung zu Ihnen.  
Ich schwöre, ich tue.**

**Obwohl ich weglaufen und laufen kann,  
ist es nur für Sie.  
Sie sind meine nur Sorgfalt  
Ich lasse Sie nie,  
es sei denn sie getan werden muss.**

**Mein liebstes  
Es gibt niemande.  
Zu für immer, in unseren Händen, die wir bleiben.  
Mein liebes, für dieses, bete ich.**

**Mein liebstes, meine Liebe.  
Nur Sie, werden i-Ende mein Atem für.**

_I saw you for the first time  
In quiet fields.  
I reached out to you,  
But could not get a grasp of.  
I could not even tell you  
Of my loving devotion to you._

_My tears fall and from it,  
It grows white lilies of the purest  
Substance.  
We are not meant to be, but still I yearn for you.  
My heart,  
Which I swear only to you._

_My life, I present  
As a sole gift to you  
My soul, as the deal.  
I pledge everything to you.  
My dearest..._

_Save the memories of you and only you  
That life creates and death erases.  
To forever, in our hands that we stay.  
My dear, for that, I pray._

_If I ever should forget you,  
I will find you till the ends of time.  
That is my promise to you.  
I swear, I do._

_Though I may stray and run  
It is only for you.  
You are my only care  
I will never leave you  
Unless it must be done._

_My dearest  
There is no one else.  
To forever, in our hands that we stay.  
My dear, for that, I pray._

_My dearest, my love.  
Only you, will I end my breath for._

He didn't sing with all the actions or movements as he usually did for shows. This time, it felt more like a force was going through him, using him almost. Like he was a puppet to this unknown woman's song.  
As he sang, he felt like his voice was being enhanced, being perfected like nothing ever before. It was in this moment, he was achieving perfection.  
He was loving it.

He met up with the woman's gaze as she still played on the piano. He was slightly taken aback. Even if this song was her own composition of something, he had never really met someone who could look up so easily while still playing the piano so professionally.  
He smiled a bit, the woman smiled back at him with pearly teeth. Though he wouldn't ever ever admit it, his heart leaped up at seeing this sophisticated lady.

At that moment, it was no longer him performing in front of an excited stage with everyone watching and a spiteful Ella Bunstein eyeing them both so gingerly.  
No, it was just him and this mysterious woman.

Flowing in music, creativity and voice melding together. He never felt so whole, so complete in his life than now. Now, under the spotlight with her. He wished that the feeling could be as strong to her as it was with him. If the moment could last forever, frozen in time, he would be at bliss. The swirls and aches in his stomach tumbled and rolled into each other, building up tension and nervousness. As he kept his sky blue eyes on her, he noticed that her eyes were an odd shade of golden amber or perhaps a very yellow hazel.

He always found that people with light brown eyes - or any other odd colours - didn't look so.... so.... well, y'know.

But that was the only thing which could mark her identity besides the signature mask already.

_'My Golden-Eyed Beauty' _he nicknamed her to himself. He only wished he could've thought up a more creative nickname for her that wasn't so plain. But that was all he could think about; those golden eyes which contrasted so greatly with that ebony hair of hers and shone through that white mask.

The song started to fade with the tinking keys going back and forth at treble cleft. Then so slowly in _rit_ that the notes just stopped.  
_Tink...........  
Tink........  
Tink......  
Tink....  
Dannnn._

He spun around to face the audience completely, not even daring to take a bow until he could hear the first round of clapping. The audience was silent. He knew something was wrong; Ella was starting to smirk victoriously at him.  
Nobody was applauding; Kroenen was feeling more nervous by the passing instant. He thought that he sung well, better than ever or than he thought he could. Apparently the audience didn't think so.

Just then, his Golden-Eyed Beauty started clapping. After the fifth clap, the audience stood up and some even jumped so ardently. They were screaming and clapping like seals for an encore. Kroenen smiled, beside himself with happiness and relief.  
He gave a low bow. But as he bent down, he saw his mysterious beauty getting up, about to leave.

Before he could allow her a second time to escape, he made a sprinting dash for her. As soon as his hand touched her white gloved hand, he felt a jolt of sudden electricity. It was like his heart stopped for the second time tonight.  
As though time and space stood still.  
The woman seemed to resist his touch, but he was stubborn and dragged her to the head of the stage to take some credit for the show.

As he held her hand and walked up, Ella stared at him with hopeful eyes that he would be willing to share the limelight with her as well. She pushed her hand demurely to him, waiting for him to take it with the one that wasn't holding the masked woman.  
He looked at her with a wondering expression of his face and held out his hand to meet hers in the middle. But just when she was about to reach, he pulled it back quick to his side and stuck his tongue out at her.

She fumed and stomped her shoes when she saw that all the attention was going to Kroenen and the dignified woman and not a single ounce to her. She stormed off back stage.

Karl raised his arms up high with the woman's hand still in his and they bowed together.  
If it was possible, the crowd roared even louder. Then so swiftly, the curtains closed and the show was over till next season.

Karl still kept a tight hold on her hand, still wanting to know more about this woman and to not let her go.  
He asked her in his most grown-up voice that he could, "Who _are_ you, ma'am?"

She looked down at him and curtsied a bit, "I am Miss Evangeline." She stood back up and slipped right out of his grasp. "Though, it is usually more customary to introduce oneself _before _asking for another's name, my dear boy."

Kroenen blushed crimson at how she had called him '_her _dear boy'. Without even thinking, he just blurted out with a bow and tapping his heels, "Karl Ruprecht Kroenen, at your service."  
He straightened out quickly, his white hand jumping to his mouth with disbelief that he had just did that. He bet he probably looked foolish to her. In a single instant, her hand reached out and traced his flawless Aryan features.

She said outloud, though it sounded more like she was musing to herself than talking to him, "_Ruprecht."  
_He loved how his name just rolled off her tongue. But he hated being called 'Ruprecht', however, he didn't really mind if she called him that. He wouldn't mind it even more if she could play the piano for his shows when he was performing again....

He asked out loud without even thinking again, "Would you play the piano for me at my next show?"

She stopped stroking his cheek and smiled a little more. She answered, "I would be honored to."  
The grin on his face lit up excitedly until she opened her mouth again and continued, "But I am afraid I can't do it."

Kroenen's face fell. It was like someone had just dangled something grand in front of his face and then told him that he couldn't have it no matter what he would do.  
He asked urgently, "Why?"

She walked away from him so gracefully. Her hand still lingering barely about him, but her back was all he could see. With a smile contradictory to her words, she answered,

"Because, my dear Ruprecht. I am going to die tonight."

He faltered, "What?"

Miss Evangeline nodded her head dimly and walked off the stage to the exit to God knows where. He ran after her, not caring about anything at the moment.  
Was this woman going to kill herself?  
Was someone after her?  
Was she sick?  
Just as he rushed out the stage, he could still see her lavished dress with the high collar and ruffling sleeves in the midst of darkness on the streets. But a hand reached for his and grabbed him back.

He turned around without noticing who was holding him, screaming "Let me go! I have to save her! My Golden-Eyed Beauty is going to die!"

There was a chuckle in his captor's voice, "Golden-Eyed Beauty, son? I haven't heard that one before? Does this beauty have a name, per say?"

Kroenen was blushing incredibly red at the thought that he had just called her that out-loud, to his father, no less!  
His father warned outloud, "Son, you ought to be careful." he looked up at the large red exit door that Karl was heading out to, "You know, there are a lot of bad people out there who would hurt even a child."

Karl gulped, nervous, "How about a woman?"

His father eyed him suspiciously, "Just to correct you, the females this age are called girls, not women..." He laughed a bit as his wife came to him through a crowd of paparazzi, "...So, did you fall for that little Ella Bunstein. She's quite a pretty one for her age, isn't she?"

Kroenen shouted out loud, not even wanting to believe that his father had said it, "_That_ witch? Never!" He looked behind him to the door, still trying to wriggle out of his father's hold, "It's that woman, the one with the mask playing the piano!"

His mother asked worriedly, "Karl! What were you thinking, running away like that? You scared me!"

His father looked up to his wife and blabbed, "Darling, you won't believe it! Our Karl has a _girlfriend_!"

"Really, dear? Who is she? Little Ella Bunstein?"

Karl sighed in exasperation, why did everyone think he was in love with Ella Bunstein?! He was about to open up his mouth to just correct his parents, but with his luck, his father was probably going to twist something around. He didn't bother.  
But his father handed him his coat and urged, "C'mon, son. Let's just go home."

He nodded his head and just obeyed. Chances were that he probably wasn't ever going to meet her. The paparazzi were still snapping pictures of him, asking the same old questions like, "How was it during the show? Do you think your singing is actually helping society?"  
Now there was this new one, "Who was that woman with you?"

He just ignored them, his head high and proud.

Then all of a sudden, from the exit, there came a banging noise and screams. Everyone shocked and clattered about to see who could it be. From the other side, voices called out, "Help, someone! Please help us!"

Karl struggled out of his father's hold to the door, he pushed it open. There came a man who had blood splattered all over him, 2 small girls hidden under his coat. The man was sweaty with fear and his clothes had dirt with foot marks on it as though someone had beat him. His daughters apparently had no bruising on them, luckily, but they were quivering with fear and were pale as sheets. The man's eyes were wide and he panted out in a horrid voice, "Someone's been shot! A woman! She's still out there!"  
He ran past Karl and to his father and grabbed him by his coat, "Please, you have to help her! She saved our lives! There's this man out there who was going to shoot at my daughters and me, but this lady just jumped in front of us out of nowhere!"  
His daughters were gasping as their faces were turning red and wet from falling tears. He gasped out as fast as he could, "All we heard were gunshots.. please, just go! You have to help her!"

Karl recalled the words of the woman who called herself 'Evangeline'  
_'"Because, my dear Ruprecht. I am going to die tonight."' _

Now he was just running out of the theatre on pure adrenaline and worry.

There was no way, how could she be dead?  
Why would God want to let somebody like her die?

He ran out onto the street. He didn't know why he decided to turn this corner and go down this road. It was the same feeling like when he was singing with her, just pure intuition.  
As soon as he slid to an alley, he expected to his Evangeline, lying on the street lifeless, blood pouring out from her. Her skin that blended in so closely to her ivory mask getting paler and colder by the moment.  
But he was surprised to see her, on her feet, grappling a man with a gun his hand. She looked like she was getting ready to fall and drop dead, a bullet wound could clearly be seen on her shoulder blade, but still she fought him with all she seemed to have left.

With fierce brute strength, she flung the man against the wall and a muffled thud was heard. She turned around in a swirl, her dress and hair turning about with her. Strangely though, she didn't seem to see him or notice that he was standing there. She was motionless, neither moving nor... even breathing. She swayed on her feet slightly, as though trying to balance herself.  
The man was cursing at her as he leaned heavily against the wall, swearing and cussing as well as any bastard. He pushed himself up and slammed her into a wall as he charged her with no warning whatsoever, there a loud _crunch_ sound. With the edge of his gun, he clubbed it against her head. She crumpled down to the ground.  
Karl could only stand there, watching someone die and kill right in front of him. Strangely, there was an addicting rush in his gut.

The man saw him and aimed with no hesitation, "Fuck off, you little bugger." he cursed.

Karl wanted to run, but it was like his feet was glued to the cement pavement. Regaining the feeling back in his feet, the boy closed his eyes shut and spun on his heels and sprinted away.

The shot fired.

He expected to feel it hit him as he was running, the sharp pang of lead piercing soft flesh and tearing a hole through his chest. But something grabbed him and pinned him down to the ground.

He was going to scream for help, but when he turned around, he saw the masked face of the lady who he had been pursuing.  
"Evangeline?" he asked nervously.

The world was silent, mute and deaf in that moment. He was all alone in the world with only her again. The last sounds that used to be of the world was the tap-tap-tapping of feet running away and the sirens as they grew fainter and fainter.

He sat up, holding the dear woman in his arms. Tears were falling from his blue eyes. "Evangeline, Evangeline. Wake up, this is no time to be sleeping." he knew that she was going to die, but the thought of her just being tired softened the tugging at his heartstrings.  
How was it that he had met someone that could make him feel like he had never felt or experienced before, be so lost to him like slipping sands in his fingertips?  
He didn't want to even think about the aftermath of this, he didn't want to think at all. He just wanted her to open up her eyes and smile that devious smile she did when he met her with those thin red lips of hers.  
She felt stiff and cold. Completely the opposite of the first few moments when he held her hand onstage. She felt warm and soft then.  
He whimpered, "Evangeline, you're not going to die. You're not going to die. You're not going to die...." He still repeated it, over and over again.

He breathed out loud; his nimble fingers went to the edge of her mask and carefully removed it. Karl gasped silently when he saw her face.  
She was perfect.  
She was like nothing he had ever seen in his life. Her eyes were wide with long thick eyelashes and brows that were naturally pencil thin. Her cheeks were high and sculpted like it was made from pure alabaster stone. Everything came together in a sweeping curve at her small chin.

She was so beautiful.

Without nary a thought, he gently touched his lips to hers. Cold and bitter with the taste of death, the kiss was.  
The kiss was half a second, but it meant something to him.  
As he hugged her closer, he noticed a second bullet wound on the back of her neck. That pushed him; this woman had died because of him and for him. It was all his fault.

Why did he run to her?  
Why didn't he just call for help in the first place?  
Why didn't he do anything to protect her?  
Why didn't he at least warn her when the man was about to attack?  
Questions of 'Why' filled his mind, unanswered and unfulfilled.

Then he felt movement in his arms, he looked down excitedly. "Evangeline!"

The woman's eyes fluttered open like butterfly wings. Then there was a weird look in her face, like she had been shocked or jolted. His gaze narrowed as he could've sworn that he saw her golden eyes flash red. Her expression quickly softened to a relaxed, but pained, tone.  
"Who are you?" the woman asked.

Karl was shocked. She just saved him, practically threw away her life for him, and now she didn't know who he was? "Evangeline, you don't remember me?"

There was no answer as he continued looking at her.

"Evangeline..."

Still no answer.

"Evangeline?"

She was dead, died in his arms. Her blank eyes still looking up at him in her passing.  
He screamed out loud like a wild animal as he clutched her tighter. A group of men came running down the alley.  
"Karl, there you are!" They came closer with relieved faces, but it soon turned to one of horror. Karl looked up on the group of constables and men, his father and mother included,

"She.... She..." He never got a chance to finish. Since his mother ran out the crowd and pulled him out of the dead woman's grasp. He still looked upon her corpse as his mother dragged him away from the scene.  
"No!" he screamed as he was being separated away from her.

His mother cried, "Karl, you must never run off like that, look, you nearly got hurt!"

He stayed quiet.  
Everything from when he had sung to her song and that gunshot in the alley felt like it was a century long, but the period when his mother was led him away from the crime scene suddenly felt blurred. Too much had happened to be recollected and it was too fast to even try to remember.

His eyes were still tearing up and crying as he watched the constables wrap Evangeline's limp body in a black plastic bag.  
The _zzziiippppp _of it echoed in his ears and he bet he would hear it for life.

He complied and followed his mother away from the scene to a police car, her white mask still in his hand.

* * *

He was allowed to skip school today because of the accident. The doctors at the police station had said he was completely traumatized and he would need about a few days rest.  
He walked down quietly to the golden kitchen which was enveloped in bright sunlight by the large clear windows all around the room. His father was smoking a pipe at the mahogany table while reading a large black and white print newspaper. A mug of coffee was at his hand. His mother was dressed in a blue flower dress with a light pink apron on her front. She was frying something up.  
The aroma of breakfast filled the room, but it didn't really do anything to adjust his mood like it usually did.

He walked to the table and pulled a chair out and sat down. His father just spoke out without even looking at him, his face hidden away by the veil of newspaper, "You know, son. They caught him last night. He was at the dock, just about to hitch a ride."

Karl didn't say anything. He looked down at the plate of eggs and sausage that his mom just set down in front of him. He didn't really care about that criminal. He killed -and Karl had helped- end the life of the first woman that ever interested him so.

His father didn't hear any reply from him, he lowered the newspaper down a bit, "They say she's a hero, son. You and I know that's the truth for sure, right?"

"I know." He looked up to look at his father's loving eyes.

"She saved you. She chose to give her life for you. You shouldn't feel so bad about it."

Karl set his fork down, "Father."

"What is it, son?"

A hopeful look grew on Karl's face, "I want to take fencing lessons."

"What are you talking about?"

"I want to learn how to fight!" his voice was getting more spirited by the second. It was true. That horrifying night in the alley had set his soul on fire. He would never let another person die in front of him like that.  
From now on, if something like that was going to happen, it would be him to lay his life down on the line. He would do it in her memory; he would never let corruption and injustice happen so swiftly. But first, he needed to learn how to fight.

"Son, are you sure you would want to do it? It takes a lot of hard work and it's dangerous to play with swords."

Karl countered eagerly, "I won't be playing with swords, I'll be practicing and fighting with them!"

His mother came around and said soothingly, "Karl, why are you doing this?"

He thought for a bit -he didn't really want to tell his mother his true reason, lest he get either a lecture or a teasing. He replied, "I want to be a man!"

His mother giggled a bit, "A man, eh? Then you'll have to eat and grow more."

Karl nodded and scooped up another forkful of egg into his mouth. As soon as he finished swallowing, he asked, "But can I take fencing lessons?"

His father sighed, "We'll talk about this another time, okay?"

Karl nodded. But whatever he wanted, he was going to do whatever he could to get it.  
And he knew he was going to get it for sure.

* * *

**Okay, so that was the first chapter. Please leave a review.**

**If not, at least check out the second chapter.**

**Or read my other Hellboy fanfic, "Geminis & Aquarius"  
And after you've finished reading that fanfic, please answer the poll for it on the top of my profile.**

**Thank you very much for reading!**

**Again, please review!**

* * *


	2. Sick Fascination

**Ngoc Chau does not own Hellboy**

**This is the second chapter. So, to cap again, this fanfic is basically how and why Kroenen, this adorable opera singer, got so interested in fencing and fighting at such an early age. So... this is my explaination. Please read and review. **

* * *

**_"Leider"  
_by  
Eisbrecher**

**http: // www. youtube. com/ watch?v= MmNjNOAGhOg**

* * *

**Chapter Piece****;**

_The excitement that was self-inflicted was much better, much easier than if someone had hit him and it made him all fervent. He smiled, picking up the branch and whipping himself again. The pleasure from it was strange, the stinging pain released something in him, it gave him a feeling of self-worth and power. He found the discipline he needed and the power he sought and he thought that until he could find it from and in another person, he would give it to himself. Each blow he could tell was getting harder, it hurt him as well as made him laugh. His back was jerking around, yet he still kept a steady hand.  
Butterflies grew in his stomach and his head was getting dizzy. Every so often, he would relax and let the branch strike against his soft meat. He oculd handle it. It all felt... good. There was nothing that could stop him now. Pain was excruciating and it was needed. Tightness grew between his legs at his member and it felt like the foreskin there was going to peel back and explode. He seethed his teeth, thinking it was another effect of the pain and hit himself harder._

**_Whiip.... _**

**_Slap!_**

_The last slap had him erupt at his crotch. It felt like... a bomb._

* * *

Karl Ruprecht Kroenen eagerly gripped the sabre in his hand.  
He was late in the session, but he was able to keep up. Now, after so many practices alone, he would finally be able to officially spar and fence with the other students. He sat on the bench, still marveling in the length and stroking it up and down, just imagining it bending, sweeping, thrusting forward. He started to feel all giddy as he was fantasizing about victories that he would show off.  
But he sighed gingerly as he remembered what had happened a few weeks ago.

The horrid man and... his Golden Eyed Beauty, Evangeline. He rolled his lips, just remembering the coldness of hers and how... connected the kiss felt, as though it was meant to be.

"Kroenen, get over here right now!" one of the instructors shouted.  
Some of the people here had heard of him, but did not appreaciate him very much for opera. In fact, it was the cause of the teasings of the students in the fencing class. He got up, grabbing his mask with him and his sabre. "Yes, sir, what is it?" he aquired.

The instructor was a typical german man with platinum blonde hair and shocking blue eyes. His jawline was square which matched his broad shoulders perfectly. The man was Till Lediter; a gifted teacher and master in the art of swordplay. However, he had a least than reputable reputation since everyone in town always saw him with a different woman on his arm every night and alchohol on his breath.  
He sneered under his breath at the young boy, "Okay, you're going to be fighting today..."

"Yes." he responded readily. He was ready, he was ready, he was ready.

"... with Alfons Amery."

Like the instructor, Alfons was big for his age. But then again, compared to Ruprecht, everyone was pretty big. He was only 11 years old after all, everyone else in the class were 13 or 14 already. He was the youngest of the entire class.  
Alfons glared at Karl in a way that an animal would look at his prey. He hissed out, "Get it, you're going to fight with me now, pansy boy."  
Pansy boy. That was what they called the Songbird. In this sport, one of agility, stealth, and strength was all that was needed, there was no must to have a talent of singing, just focus and size. But he would just do his best to be the best; to be perfect at it just as he was with singing.

He brushed his golden locks out of his view, behind his ears and put on the mask. He breathed out loud, feeling more relaxed and at ease hiding behind the mask than if he were to go without. Not just in fencing of course, but he felt... better if he wore a mask. In fact, whenever he went home, he usually still wore his uniform, with the mask on as well, lying to his father and saing that all the others did as well. Coincidently and luckily, they did too.

Karl stood tall, remembering all basics and knowing, just thinking, that it would be the key to his first victory. Surely, because Alfons had more lessons, was more experienced, he had also grown more cocky and sloppy. Yes... he would do this move and he could easily counter him with another. His left fist clenched behind his back as he gripped the sabre's handle with a tensed up hand, still loose albeit, that was ready to swing and twitch and angle the sword _perfectly._ He steadied his footwork, making it so that it matched Alfons exactly while at the same time, they were alternate from each other. Alfons; with his left foot in front, Karl; with his right foot.

The instructor stood at the edge of the piste, watching the 2 students about to fight against each other to see who would truly be victorious. Both saluted each other, for with no salute or even showing a small form of respect to your opponent was enough to get you disqualified. Alfons made no move as soon as the instructor raied his hand up and signaled with a grunt that the match was commencing.  
Karl stood still, motionless, watching for a twtich or a sway, he was timing him. The fact that Alfons was stilll as a statue showed that he was concentrating hard. It was not always the first one who moved would be the victor. No, often times, it would be the one who moved second and countered would win. That was the plan, that was the thought going through both their heads. Karl was sure of that idea.

However, he knew that he had the upper hand, despite his lack of experience. Unlike the students in the class, he was always watching them, always watching with his eagle eyes. The students cared only for themselves, never bothering to learn from others of their equal calibar, only from a superior and that was their mistake. Yes, they were training to be superior, but they had to start small, they had to grow from their level and that was what kept stopping them, stalling them from going forward.  
It was only him who showed sighns of instant progression. And they had never seen him fight before, hence everythihng he did, every combination would be new to them.

He remembered from Alfons's matches against the other students; he would always wait till they made the first move then as they moved in, he would just back up even more, a no-no in fighting for as soon as you retreat back, your opponent had the advantage. However, just as soon as he would back up, he would lunge forward, catching the other off guard completely.

While watching the same habit from Alfons all this time, he had thought up of counters, now he could finally use them. First off; make Alfons think he was in charge when he really wasn't; he did so with that by moving forward, going as far as he saw the others had done with this boy, but his calves were tensed up tight to prepare to snap back.

Alfons moved back as expected, the poor ignorant boy, Karl wasn't just a mere singer, he had also been a strong strategist in everything; from games, plans, to practical all out war.  
Now, in one split second, he could see his eyes moving, darting to Karl's chest, this was it now. Alfons sprung forward, even from behind the mask Karl could see a hint of forseen victory. But that was going to change. He leaned back, stepping to the side a well to make sure that Alfons would miss no matter what. He missed, nearly falling foward and he took that chance to strike. He stepped forward, just a little step and struck forward, the sabre bent wildly against Alfons's chest and a loud groan was heard.

"Halt!" Lediter shouted out with a strange gruffness.  
He pointed to Karl with a sort of air of dismay about him and shouted, "Point; Kroenen"

Both fencers walked back to their ends, still facing each other. All the students who had been watching, probably anticipating the beginner's loss, stared in shocked awe for Alfons; who had been one of the toughest fighters in the class, was just defeated at first point to a scrawny little boy.  
Ha!  
Wait till they saw of more that he had up his sleeve. There were still 4 more points for him to win and he would definitely show them all he got. However, he knew that while they watched, they wouldn't learn anything at all.

More fighting, more stepping, all with silent grace. Though the only noise came from Lediter shouting every so often because Alfons tapped his hand on his back, asking for a pause. The adrenaline going through his body was warm and sparking like liquid fire, always having to move, never ceasing, even stopping would slow him down for a second and that would be enough to lose. His muscles ached at always just stepping to one place then having to move to somewhere else completely different after.  
The whip of the sabre snapped back and forth as he flicked the tip about and spun it around to keep Alfons at bay.  
It worked, every move that he did worked, he was confused about everything, following only improvised moves that had been brushed away by undiscipline, while when he stuck to basics, he used only it at precision. Everytime Halt was called and a point was given, it was him who had it.

"Halt!" he yelled again, pointing a weary arm at Karl,  
Point; Kroenen. End Match." No one applaused. He breathed out and stood still. Lediter called out, "Faber, get in here! You;re going to fight now!"

More fighting, more energy.

* * *

It was the end of the session for the day. Only Alfons and Karl were left. They eyed each other gingerly.  
All of a sudden, Karl heard a voice shouting, "Get up here now, Kroenen, I want a rematch!"

He looked to Alfons who already had his mask on, swinging his sabre all around. Karl looked up at him from behind his mask and said dully, "What are you talking about, Amery. Class is over. Even if you were to beat me now, it wouldn't be counted. You lost to me, get over it. Truth is, you're not that good anyway. "

Just as he finished speaking, Alfons jumped at him, swinging his sabre like a madman.  
Karl back somersaulted out of the way, screaming, "What the hell are you doing? You never do that unless the other is ready!"

Alfons sneered under his breath, "I wasn't ready when we fought and you stilll went at me. Come on, just a rematch."

He charged again, cutting the sword down as he did so, Karl grabbed his sabre and held it up. The attack was blocked, he trembled as he held it over his head, just trying to push him back, but Alfons placed all his weight on the base of the sabre. Alfons got up, but as soon as he did, he aimed lower and stabbed at Karl in his stomach.

It hurt so much, he could've sworn that he heard a crack. Sure, he had fallen before, but nothing felt as painful as this. The throb hurt, he never thought getting hurt would sting so much. He stayed on his knees, his hands cradling his stomach and pushing down on it to try and dull the pain, it didn't do anyting at all. He threw up a bit, something white and bitter and water. His spine shook. _'Ouch, ouch, ouch.'_ went through his head. He counted how many seconds the fire of it kept burning at him.

Alfons laughed, "Oh my God, you really are a pansy boy! Haven't you ever been stabbed before? It doesn't hurt that much, you big baby! Get up and fight!"

Karl breathed out loud, it was getting better, the pain was still turning, but it.. didn't hurt as much.

Alfons actually did the unexpected; he took his sword and slashed it down Karl's back! A loud tear could be heard and a loud, "Arrghhh!!!"  
Strange how when he felt it, the images of Evangelin's back, stained with blood and at the top of it was a black hole an the smoking barrel of the gun that was fired at her.

He seethed hard through his teeth as another lightening of injury came at him. Something... came as an unexpected side-effect. He felt something deep in his lower abdomen tighten. His back was still on fire, still searing him. He breathed and panted outloud, his spine arching as his shoulders blades came closer in to the middle of his spine. The tightening intensed harder, so much, he thought something would burst out from his pelvis.

He sprung at Alfons, punching him. He flew back, the sabre flying off somewhere else out of his grip. That was what happened; fists flying everywhere, bruises appearing everywhere, all of that stuff.

During the fight, Karl noticed, each blow hurt, but something in him... was tingling. It was a tickle at first, but the harder each punch... it felt... like something was going to explode...

"Karl, what are you doing?!" his father called out to him.  
He paid no attention becauseif Alfons was going to keep punching, so was he.

"Alfy, what the hell?!" a disembodied voice called out suddenly. Alfons stopped and stood up, while brushing the dirt and smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform.

Karl stayed on the ground, running his hands through his hair and scratching at the back of his head. His father ran over to him and gently moved his hand down his face, as he did so, he noticed that every touch... pinched.

"Karl, what were you doing? Are you okay? Your face is all swollen and it's purple!" He pulled Karl up by his hsoulders and continued asking, "What did you do? What did _he_ do to you?"  
He suddenly looked up to Alfons's father who was smoking a thick cigar, matching the image of a big burly man. "Look at what your kid did to my son? The damn kid is a wild animal!"

Alfons's father pulled out his cigar and said in a thick accented voice, "How do you know that it was my kid, maybe it was yours. Look at the look on his face, doesn't seem right."

"My son is a handsome boy, but look at his face now. This is your son's fault!"

"My son? It's yours. You're maybe a faggot, but it doesn't mean your son is like that too! He probably started the fight!"

The last thing Karl could remember before he fainted was his dad throwing a punch to Alfons's father.

* * *

The first thing he noticed as he opened up his eyes was that everything was spinning around in circles. He blinked a few times, just trying to get his head to clear and have the inane spinning stopped.  
No, the world keep spinning round and round all over. It wasn't long before Karl realized that the world was never spinning, it was simply him in the car with his father. He sat up, looked at his father who had his jaw clenched and eyes emotionless while he stared out on the road.

Karl stirred around, looking at everything; for one thing, his sabre and his mask were between him and his father.  
He looked up, "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

His father cleared his throat and replied without looking to him, "No, you're not in trouble... I am."

_Wait, was it actually real?_ His father punching... Alfons's father? Was it all real? Still, he pretended to feign ignorance, "What happened? Did I bump into something or... what?"

His father turned to him then back to the road, "Oh, you probably blacked out then. Well.. don't tell your mother this because it's probably better that I explain before I say anything, but... you know that kid... what's his name again?"

"Alfons Amery." he reminded his father.

"Yeah, that kid. Anyway, I know for sure that you didn't start that fight because that's the way your mother and I raised you, but his father goes saying that you were the one who started the fight."

"I didn't." he said all too quickly. At least, he was _sure_ that he didn't. He was the one who threw the first punch after all, but he wasn't the one who charged and attacked with a sword first.

"I know you didn't, Karl. I'm proud of you for turning the other cheek like that, but his father didn't believe that you did. And... we were talking for a bit until..."

"You sucker-punched him." he finished for his father.

"Bingo." a sudden look of pride grew on his father's face but was later erased away by a look of uncertainty, "But, son, the fact that I punched someone was wrong and it is a new lesson for me to have. Never punch someone, always turn the other cheek and be the bigger man."  
There was an awkward silence between the 2 of them.

"But what happened after?"

His father shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. Right after I beat him up.. I grabbed you and ran."

He scratched the back of his head and asked with a groan, "What happened to me, I hurt all over. My face hurts." He rubbed his cheek and felt the difference between soft flesh and hard swelling. His back ached the most.

"You took quite a beating there, son. But there's nothing like a few blocks of ice won't solve and it'll all heal and go away so you'll just as good-looking as your old man." he chuckled.

"What happened to Alfons?"

His father shrugged his shoulders, "To tell you the honest truth, son, I don't really care. But I will tell you that he had a few bruises too, looked just like yours. So I can proudly say that my son, the very pride of my name and life, could hold his own in a fight."

"It was my first time fighting today too and I won all my matches." he added in, wanting to hear more of his father's praises.

His father laughed out loud, his voice roaring with sheer male ego, "Attaboy, son! We should tell your mother that when we get home!"  
Karl only opened his mouth to say something when his father interrupted him, "But don't tell your mother what I did."

* * *

He stayed outside to practice as soon as he got home. He was still clad in his uniform, each second passing made the smooth material feel more and more like his second set of skin. He saluted to an invisiable partner and started jumping back and forth, practicing, taking note in himself for his speed to increase and decrease by his own will rather than mere momentum.  
He stabbed forward and stopped, flinching and clutching his shoulder as he did so. the ache was back to taunt at him. He hated it, how could he have fallen so easily?

He should've endured it, been stronger and not fallen down and even start gagging like that. He simply couldn't believe it. There were 2 choices for him;  
1. Just quit and never fight again to feel this ungodly pain.  
Or 2. Turn the pain into something else other than pain.  
Numb himself to it practically, if he were ever struck like that in such a way, he wouldn't fall weakness to it. He could use it instead. Isn't that what a battle was about; to use your opponent's every move, stength, and weakness to you advantage?

He smiled as he deviously thought up different methods to improve and shield himself from pain. he couldn't fight back for sure, that would get him disqualified. He had to be more underhanded though, something that would either get him caught or turn him into a bumbling fool; his puppet. The sting on his back seared him. He took his sabre and pressed it against his back, letting the pressure do it's work on the wound. It felt good, to feel the cool metal seep through the sweat-stained uniform onto his back. He wondered something though... With a quick flick of his wrist, the sabre's blade snapped against his back and he seethed through his teeth, the sound of it like a snake. It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as when Alfons did it. He assumed that it was either he was building up some sort of endurance or he was... still weak and scared that he couldn't even harm himself. Well, that would have to change if he was going to be stronger. He breathed in deep, biting on his lips at the same time, tensing up his back at the same time and letting it go!  
The sword slashed at him and he yelped. It hurt. But it didn't feel as hard as when Alfons did it. It felt hard, but still soft compared to Alfons's blow.

_'What could I use? If I keep this up, I'll be hurting all morning till the end of time and I'll never get anywhere. All the boys at class will laugh at me and they'll ridicule me even more if that's possible. What can I do? Think, Karl, think....'_  
He dropped his sword when a thin oak branch caught his eye. Walking over to the brach, he started to fling it around. It moved and bent like the sword, but with a more wilder uncontrolled feel. He though, 'Maybe this would work better. I have nothing to lose but probably a few more drops of blood.' He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth and flicked the branch behind him. It snapped, having a huge sound like 2 hands clapping.  
"Yow!" he cried out, he dropped the branch and fell tohis knees. That definitely felt like Alfons's hit. Something was tingling in him again, same as before, but much stronger.

The excitement that was self-inflicted was much better, much easier than if someone had hit him and it made him all fervent. He smiled, picking up the branch and whipping himself again. The pleasure from it was strange, the stinging pain released something in him, it gave him a feeling of self-worth and power. He found the discipline he needed and the power he sought and he thought that until he could find it from and in another person, he would give it to himself. Each blow he could tell was getting harder, it hurt him as well as made him laugh. His back was jerking around, yet he still kept a steady hand.  
Butterflies grew in his stomach and his head was getting dizzy. Every so often, he would relax and let the branch strike against his soft meat. He oculd handle it. It all felt... good. There was nothing that could stop him now. Pain was excruciating and it was needed. Tightness grew between his legs at his member and it felt like the foreskin there was going to peel back and explode. He seethed his teeth, thinking it was another effect of the pain and hit himself harder.

**_Whiip.... _**

**_Slap!_**

The last slap had him erupt at his crotch. It felt like... a bomb. Something coursef through him and his thighs felt slippery and wet. Karl quickly looked around if there was anyone around and when he saw it was all clear, his hand shot down his pants. He felt around; it couldn't have been so painful that he wet himself, it just couldn't be. He felt a substance of it and pulled his hand out to examine. It didn't feel like urine so he ruled out wetting one's pants in a relief. But he was confused to what the sticky gooey fluid was.  
He brushed it off, whatever it was, it felt amazing, undescibable with every amount of pleasure mixed in and excitement and adrenaline. If it was just him hitting himself for this, imagine.... fighting someone else. Fighting would be total nirvana and he would be the best. While everyone else was groaning and moaning in pain, he woud be the only one immune to it. He smiled as he thought more and more about fighting and his brand new discovery in the joining of flesh and raw affliction. It was too great!

But.... the idea that a sick thing like pain would make him happy... he couln't tell anybody else about this. They might think bad things about him and they might even try it themselves. They would be just as aquainted with paroxysm as he was starting to be. No, he couldn't stand much competition right now. His parents might even scold him and take him away from his fencing classes. He had to be quiet about it and keep it to himself.

Nonetheless, wait till he faced Alons tomorrow.

That was one problem solved, now the new one was how he could get into his house without his mother noticing a huge stain in front of his pants and a weird creasing fold over his groin.

* * *

Karl rolled his shoulder blades, his arm moving as well. Today was another fighting match and he was determined to get back at Alfons for striking him while he was unarmed yesterday evening. He would get him, he would show him the surprise of his life. Till had called both him and Alfons to the piste for another session of matches.  
Though both boys looked completely oppsite from one another; Karl with his angelic complexion and Alfons with is rugged looks, they looked very similar to each other. Both boys had bruises along the sides of their faces and had a black eye.

Till went to the center of the piste and signaled with a grunt and a wave of his hand. Immediately, Alfons jumped forward, his sabre back in ready position to cut forward. Karl knew what to do; he aimed first for his heart, knowing full well that seeing an attack like that, Alfons would have no choice but to interrupt his little plan and defend himself. He did so, according to plan. As soon as he left his foil down, Karl charged in and aimed for his neck.

"Halt!" interrupted Till in the fury between both boys. "Point; Kroenen."

They stepped back to their ends at the piste after their less than a minute fight. They charged at each other again; Alfons's arm reeled back again like before.  
He thought to himself, laughing, _'What an idiot! He's doing the same thing again! This will be easy!'_  
Karl aimed low once more, but Alfons didn't defend this time; he stepped into the foil tip, whipping the foil into his face. Karl flew back, right off the piste onto his back.

Every boy who was wtching and sitting down on the bench stormed up over to Karl who was still on the ground, "Kroenen, you okay? Where'd he get ya?"

He stumbled up, silent, yet behind his mask, he was laughing and smiling. Didn't even hurt one bit! It felt like a tickle! He got up, some of the boys at his arm and supporting him up.

Till asked sternly, almost bitterly, "You okay, Kroenen? Need to sit out?"

He shook his head, "I can still fight."

He nudged his head and motionned to the piste, "Point; Amery!"

Both were tied and stood facing each time. The match began again. Both went at each other. Just one second passed since their feet left the grounds. The sabre went to Alfons's chest, the other went to Karl's neck.  
It all seemed to go into slow motion. Who would be the first one.

_Crack!!! _

The sound just echoed. Everybody blinked and hesitantly opened their eyes to see who had it.  
They gasped out.  
Both had pierced each other, blood was dripping from each of their sabre. Finally.... 1 dropped onto his back; Alfons Amery. As soon as the boy fell back in a crumpled heap, Karl straightened himself up and stretched out his neck.

More than half of the boys went to Karl, clammering,  
"That was so cool!"  
"Do you have a hold or something in your neck now?"  
"Doesn't it even hurt?"

Alfons moaned in pain on the ground as Karl watched him with satisfaction in his eyes.

He wondered to himself, _'Is this what they call blood-lust?'_  
It probably was, he supposed. He grew excited to see the blood all over the white uniform, even on his own as well.

He knew for sure though, he was going to be the best.

* * *

**Yes, I wrote a second chapter to the first one though I first intended that the first chapter would stand alone. However, I wanted to write a fanfic about how Kroenen became a masochist and I thought I should just add it to this because it fits into the theme of my fanfiction. The theme is long; it's about how even someone good and normal can become twisted. Short; A human's soul is always open to either light or darkness, never just light. **

**I'm going to write a sequel to this. It's going to be another fanfic, not another chapter. So.... add me to alerts and you'll get the sequel. You'll like it. I swear. **


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